What Happened to Hannah (27 page)

“Don’t forget it’s a surprise. Maybe you could invite a few of her other friends? The whole track team if you think she’d want that. Her birthday isn’t until Thursday, of course, but I thought we could celebrate here with her friends this weekend, and then if it’s okay with you”—she looked at Grady and then at Lucy—“and if you’d like to, the three of us can go to Baltimore next weekend. See her new room. Eat out. Do some shopping. What do you think?”

Lucy gave her now famous whatever shrug and turned to go. It was hard to tell by the modicum of anticipation displayed by the teens if the party was a good idea or not, but they were polite and said they’d help with invitations.

She looked to Grady for reassurance after they’d hopped down off the bleachers to stand beside the fence that circled the field.

“They’re screaming inside they’re so excited.”

“Amazing. Such control.”

“They do it for us. So that every time we actually do make them happy or do something right, it doesn’t go to our head. This way it’s all a mystery and we’re kept busy guessing.”

“Your Book of Dad again?”

“Absolutely.”

He kept her amused for the next forty-five minutes to an hour with wise and humorous lessons he’d compiled over the years—and then it was time for Anna to run her 1600 meters. The whole thing took less than five minutes, starting out as she expected—Anna running with the four other runners until after the first lap when her legs began to devour the track a little faster and faster until she was so far ahead of the others that the race was almost boring.

Almost
.

Anna had clearly
mopped the floor
with the Ripley runners as she—and everyone else from Clearfield—had planned. From above, Hannah watched Cal push restless hands into his back pockets and his sister fidget anxiously while Biscuit yelled, “Time. Time. What’s her time?” at the keeper.

However, both teams cheered when the results were announced.

“4:39.58”

“Well, what the hell does that mean?”

Truly. She needed to get a book on this sport. It was frustrating to know nothing about it and have to depend on others to explain it before she could cheer or commiserate. She clapped and tried to look as happy and proud as Grady was.

“Well, she shaved a little time off her personal best of 4:40.68, but she didn’t break Ripley’s record of 4:38.15. She did a fantastic job.”

Chapter Fifteen

S
o maybe
Have at it
were not the best three words to pass on to the caterer for Anna’s birthday party.

The open-ended invitation might not have been wise, either.

Perhaps it was an omen when the cute, bouncy, cheerleaderlike woman was thirty-eight minutes late that morning to be let into the house and shown around—before aunt left to join niece, et al., at the farm to see if she could get any work done before it was time to come back, dress up, and greet guests just as the sun began to set.

Possibly a fast-food dinner and a bakery cake would have been the way to go as Anna was, so far, a girl of simple tastes . . .

But Hannah was excited. This was the beginning of all the wonderful things she could give Anna, all the fun things they would share, all the memories they’d make together. It was her time to shine as a new
parental unit,
as Biscuit would say, and she wanted everything to be special—she wanted it to be momentous, something they’d never forget . . .

“What the holy hell is going on here?” she asked when she could make her way past the tables and stage under all the colorful paper lanterns, around the Polynesian torches and Tiki poles to the raffia-skirted tables covered with strange-looking food to the chirpy blond caterer—already dressed in a colorful yellow-and-white-tank muumuu and white orchid lei.

She clapped and smiled fanatically. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re back on time. Everything is nearly ready—”

“Are you out of your mind?” Lyndsey Makel from Anytime Party and Catering had come with two excellent references from personal business associates of Joe’s in Charlottesville, and her boss swore that if he were throwing a party for his own daughter, she’s the one he would ask. But Hannah still had to ask—“Are you nuts? This is a birthday party for a sixteen-year-old, not a . . . ah . . .”

Her attention hooked on and was reeled in by a very large brown-skinned, shirtless man in a blue hibiscus-print pareo and flip-flops holding a large bag of water in each hand—in which fat gold-and-red koi floated. Open-mouthed, she watched as he lumbered to the side of the house where she noticed—now—water cascading over a stack of smooth river rocks that reached as high as the end of the front porch and flowed into a gurgling stone basin that spilled into a ground-level pond big enough to block off access to the backyard. Once there, the man stooped and carefully freed the fish into the pool.

At the other end of the house, the path to the small grassy backyard was obstructed by a mound of dirt.

“Both are incredibly realistic plastic,” Lyndsey said with a casual wave of her hand after noting her expression—
aghast,
if it were a true reflection of her thoughts—“Not to worry.”

“What . . . what happened to the
little backyard celebration
we discussed?”

“I tried to call you,” she said, still smiling. “Twice, but I went straight to voice mail.”

Automatically, Hannah reached into the front pocket of her jeans for her cell. “We had a little problem with our
imu
and—”

“Your what?” Her phone was dead . . . or off. For some reason she shook it to see if it was broken. Something, somewhere was definitely broken.

“ . . . and even a midsized pig takes six to eight hours to steam cook properly, so we had to go ahead and make the decision to move everything to the front yard or it wouldn’t be done on time for the party. But don’t you worry about a thing now because we are fully insured for exactly this sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” Dread filled her chest like a rain cloud.

“Careless accidents. They happen all the time, you know.”

“Careless accident.” Her temples started to throb.

“Oh.” She laughed. “My moving crew accidentally knocked our makeshift imu into one of the smaller windows in back. Cracked it, nothing serious, and we’ll have it repaired first thing Monday morning.”

“Makeshift imu . . . a big plastic bird?”

Lyndsey’s laughter was nerve piercing. “No, no. That’s
emu
with an
e.
This is
imu
with an
i
.” No discernible difference in pronunciation was detected. She pointed to the mound of plastic dirt to their left. “There. A Hawaiian underground oven? To steam the pig? But of course we can’t just dig holes in people’s yards so we were fortunate enough to find this oven and with a little creative thinking . . . Voilà! Our imu. It works fabulously. And I’ve had other planners ask where we got it, but you couldn’t pry that out of me with a dozen cheese knives. And most people don’t know the difference anyway unless they’ve actually been to Hawaii . . . or maybe if they read a lot . . .

“But anyway, the window? Not attractive. And you know, we don’t always have a second site to set up like we did here. And to tell you the truth”—she finally took a breath and cast a satisfied glance around at her work—“I think this is a much better venue anyway. It’s bigger. There’s more permanent vegetation to back up what I brought with me . . .”

That’s when Hannah noticed the palm trees—twelve feet tall if they were an inch—in huge decorative pots set about the James’s front lawn. Shocking yellow Birds of Paradise nested artfully in May’s pink and white azalea bushes; hibiscus bloomed in various bright colors in small trees and floated in bowls on the tables.

The blood in her head began to drain from her face as she realized what she was hearing and seeing. A broken window. A steaming pig. Real koi in a plastic waterfall/pool. The little backyard celebration she’d ordered for Anna’s birthday was going to cost her a fortune in flowers alone . . . and there was a giant blue-and-yellow macaw sidling across the front porch banister, bobbing its head and picking at the island grass and seashell garland hanging thereon.

Her knees went a little weak so she slid into one of the bamboo folding chairs at the closest table. She was afraid to ask, “Inside?”

“Well, I didn’t do much in there since we lucked out with such nice weather for an April party, and we want to keep the guests . . . especially the teenagers . . . outside and watching the entertainment, so we’ve barricaded the entrance to the second floor with a tasteful screen that we’ve found most people respect quite well and made the downstairs restroom available on a first-come, first-serve basis. The kitchen is a little dream, and with this side entrance it’s made everything so convenient for us. So all we needed after that was a place to put the costumes.”

“Costumes?”

“Not mandatory, of course, but for the guests who come and didn’t realize there was a Hawaiian theme . . .”
Or a small backyard celebration theme?
she wanted to ask as the space beside her left eyebrow began to twitch.
With paper BBQ bibs, perhaps?
. . .
“So many of them will want to join the festivities with a bright shirt or a lovely muumuu. For those who are interested, one of the dancers gives a short demonstration on the many ways to tie a pareo . . . or a sarong, if you will, but for you I’ve—”

“Dancers?”

She laughed—gaily. “What’s a luau without dancers? And not just any dancers. I learned the hard way that hula dancing is a complex art form and even minor errors in the movements could invalidate the performance, bring bad luck, or even have dire consequences to the person being honored.”

“You’re kidding me.” And she wasn’t in a mood to be kidded.

So it was a good thing Lyndsey answered, “No. I’m serious. I’d rather skip the dancers altogether than use even one that’s trained poorly.” Her eyes grew large and sparkled with joy. “Lucky for us, I got three of the best for tonight. They will honor your niece and wish her great happiness, plus we have the five koi there for strength, power, and good luck. So much of what the Hawaiians do is symbolic and filled with traditions, which is why it’s so much more fun than, say, a Hannah Montana– or Jonas Brothers–themed party . . . and yet so less complicated than a Jurassic Park or a December 21, 2012, theme—I’ve had to do both.”

“For sixteen-year-olds?”

“Oh sure, though we do focus primarily on the college kids, of course, Charlottesville being the home of the Mighty Wahoo’s and UVA having some of the best sorority and frat houses in the country. I’m a Lambda Kappa Gamma myself,” she confided. “Great kids. Which reminds me, where’s yours? She needs to get ready.” She took a closer look at Hannah and winced. “You both do.”

“She’s at her friend Lucy’s house. This is supposed to be a surprise and Lucy said it’s lame anyway to be standing around waiting to see if people show up at your party if you don’t have to, so I was sent ahead to be lame alone since the party was my idea. They’ll come a little later . . . but I—I think they’re going to clean up at Lucy’s because the last time I saw her she was as filthy as I am.” She stood and took yet another look around. The only parties she’d ever been to were Christmas parties, where the theme was, traditionally, Christmas. Besides, her niece would only turn sixteen once, right? “I came back a little earlier than I planned to. I was eager to see everything and make sure it was perfect, which . . . which you seemed to have done, um, quite nicely . . . and see the look on Anna’s face; take pictures, that sort of thing.”

Isn’t that what a real parent would do? She felt so out of it already, she couldn’t bring herself to ask Lyndsey the question. Instead she let herself get swept up in the last-minute bustle and was hustled off to clean up and change clothes. Lyndsey’s orders.

Lyndsey, who apparently thought her too dumbstruck to follow her simple instructions, was waiting in the hall when she came out of the bathroom in her terry robe.

“I would give at least one of my limbs to be able to wear my hair in that short, feathery style around my face like that, but my eyes are too close together and my chin is too pointed to pull it off the way you do. Best of all it only takes a second to dry, I bet. Now I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of picking out a dress for you.” She picked up the long red cotton dress Hannah had seen on the bed earlier—a simple ruffled shoulder dress she thought she could handle for one night. “I guessed at your size, but I have a couple others we can choose from if we need to—but this is the prettiest if you ask me, and with your coloring . . . well, it never hurts to be beautiful, right? And there’s a similar dress in your niece’s room in a fabulous blue, but she may want to go with a sarong with her friends . . . or another style muumuu she’s more comfortable with.” She paused to breathe. “What are you waiting for? Time is passing and I still have things to do.”

“I can dress myself.”

“Of course you can, but I want everything and everyone to be as perfect as you. Now, it’s still a little early in the season to be going barefoot, so unless you have some sort of shoes that are appropriate we provide little scuffs, or flip-flops if you prefer them, though I think the scuff would go better with the dress. And while I usually recommend to my friends that they moisturize, moisturize, moisturize, tonight you should skip your throat and décolletage until later so you don’t ruin the flowers in your lei before the night is over.”

Caught in the eye of Hurricane Lyndsey, Hannah flipped on her hair dryer, hoping for a little peace in which to collect her thoughts. Her anxiety gave way to amusement when the party planner began to shout, over the dryer’s wind, the special ingredients to the various foods on the festive menu, which included kalua pork, poke, poi, lomi salmon, opihi, and white cake with haupia for the birthday dessert.

“It’s fabulous!” she screamed when the air died and, grinning, Hannah started on her makeup. “Not too much now. Simple elegance is what we’re aiming for, and that was you when you got here in your dusty old jeans and—” Hannah turned from the mirror above the low chest of drawers to face her. “Yes. Perfect. Now let me help you with this dress. It’s no wonder they use this style so often for Hawaiian weddings—it’s so elegant, even in plain old cotton like this. So plain with the simple ruffles at the shoulders to dress it up and yet it looks like a million bucks. Oh, yes. Don’t you think so? You look lovely.”